The Death of Cisco Ramon
by Beautiful-Crying-Angel
Summary: Tag to 1x15 "Out of Time." What if the ending of the episode had been different? What if Barry had run fast enough to save the city, but not fast enough to be launched backward in time? Cisco dies, and in the aftermath, Caitlin and Barry have to deal with their grief and the consequences. Contains: character death, grief, & implied SnowBarry. Chapter 6 UP!
1. Chapter 1: Fatality

My first ever _Flash _fanfic. Tag to 1x15 "Out of Time." (My goodness, that ending. I wept like a little child.) I don't know what is coming next, but what if Barry hadn't been vaulted through time? What if he had stopped the wave, but had arrived too late to help Cisco? Though I'm not sure where this story will lead, I'm going to keep updating. I would love your feedback! I'm also going to try incorporating past and future episodes. **Warnings: **character death &amp; some language.

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**The Death of Cisco Ramon  
Chapter One  
**

It became increasingly apparent to Dr. Harrison Wells that his secret would inevitably be unearthed. Suspicions had taken root in people's minds. Despite his best efforts to cover his tracks, he had slipped up here and there. No matter. He cared little. Soon he would be out of this god-foresaken time era and be back where he belonged.

He had believed that ultimately it would be Detective Joe West who would unmask him. He knew the man was investigating him for the murder of Nora Allen. His little charade with the containment field had taken care of that, but he knew Joe wouldn't stop. He would bring the truth to light. The cop, however, would be easy enough to get rid of – another police officer gunned down in the line of duty. Wells had not anticipated that Joe's suspicions would establish themselves so firmly in Cisco's mind though. Still, he shouldn't have been surprised. The boy was clever. Too clever.

Killing Cisco would be different from killing the others. The boy would be missed. There would be no conning his way out of this one – especially since he had left Caitlin his empty wheelchair. How could he convince Barry to help him now?

Small matters. He had established himself remarkably well in fifteen years; he would think of something.

"You're very clever, Cisco," he remarked, rubbing his hands together, and then shoving them into his pants' pockets. Unfazed. Just another day at the office. "I've always said so." The tone of his voice was gentle. It was the way he always spoke to the young man.

"You're him." Cisco couldn't conceal the betrayal, the hurt, he felt. It seeped out in his voice. "You're Reverse Flash." His tone ironic, as he spoke the name that he had, unintentionally, dubbed the doctor.

'Dr. Wells' formally introduced himself by the name of Eobard Thawne. Cisco might have mused that 'Eobard Thawne' didn't sound as distinguished, as reputable, as Harrison Wells, but he was hardly in a position to debate baby names. Wells claimed to be a distant relative of Eddie, but Cisco didn't feel the need to pursue that any further. What he really wanted to know about was the night they had detained the Reverse Flash, how both he and Wells could be in the same space.

Wells demonstrated his ability. In his awe, Cisco stepped forward – closer to danger. He couldn't help wondering if Barry would ever be fast enough to accomplish the same feat. He hoped so. He could really use the Flash right about now.

Realization and horror set in. Cisco passed his hands over his throbbing temples. His fight-or-flight response was screaming at him to run for his life. But it would be useless. He was, after all, up against the fastest man on earth. "Joe was right. You were there that night, fifteen years ago, in Barry's house. You killed Nora Allen."

"It was never my intention to kill Nora. I was there to kill Barry." Wells stated it simply, without remorse or feeling. He was using the same gentle tone, the one he had often used to comfort Cisco; now it just made his skin crawl.

"Why? You're his friend. You've been teaching him."

Another matter-of-fact explanation from Wells. A complete indifference to anyone's needs except his own. A complete lack of empathy. "_No one_ is going to prevent that from happening." He meant Cisco. The fact of his impending death dawned clearly on him. Or rather fell upon him, as a sudden and overwhelming darkness, which seemed to suffocate him.

Cisco attempted to choke down his emotion, and decided to give a feeble try at saving his own life. "I can help you."

"You're smart, Cisco. But you're not that smart." Wells' hand moved at hyper speed, and Cisco closed his eyes against it. This was going to happen. Wells was actually going to kill him. He was going to die at the hands of the man he respected and admired, practically worshipped. A man he would have laid down his life for. A man he considered to be his friend.

The betrayal stung deeply, shaking Cisco to the core. "How hard it has been to keep all this from you, especially from you." The tears were coming now. Cisco couldn't contain them. He was going to die. _Die. _He wouldn't get the chance to say goodbye to Caitlin or Barry, to warn them. He had failed his friends. But maybe they would find it in their hearts to overlook that, once he was buried six feet deep. "The truth is, I've grown quite fond of you," Wells continued, softly, kindly. Then he twisted the knife that he had stabbed into Cisco's back: "And in many ways, you have shown me what it's like to have a son."

Cisco swallowed a sob. How could Wells say that to him now? In this last year, Cisco had come to view his S.T.A.R Lab companions as a kind of mini, surrogate family. Caitlin, Barry, Wells. His own family situation wasn't ideal. He was often not only the odd-man-out but was ridiculed and scorned. He didn't fit in with his own family. But he did _here_, with these people who loved him.

Only yesterday he had blown off another family dinner to spend the day with Wells watching movies, laughing. He guessed he wouldn't be needing that list of movies now. Wells had asked him about the dinner, showed an interest in Cisco's personal life. Cisco had attached himself to the doctor as a kind of father figure, but how much of it was real? Was Wells' fondness genuine or feigned? If he really viewed him as a son, how could he harm him now?

He should have gone to his brother's house and had one final moment with his real father.

Wells looked down at the young face. Boyish and innocent. That was part of Cisco's appeal. Beneath his massive intellect was a goofy, undaunted, child-like heart that liked to name meta-humans and make jokes, that remained optimistic despite all the evil he saw. The evil he now looked upon. His round cheeks were fresh and wet with tears. Poor kid.

Wells didn't hesitate. His hand pierced Cisco's chest. The boy gave a gasp of pain. Their eyes locked. "Forgive me. But to me, you've been dead for centuries." Wells gave one final jerk, aimed for Cisco's heart, and removed his arm from the boy's chest.

Cisco's body crumpled at his feet. Wells sighed, and shoving his hands into his pockets once again, strolled out of the room.

**_TheFlash_**

"Cisco?" Caitlin called, entering S.T.A.R labs. Her hurried footsteps echoed in the stillness. It was too quiet. "Cisco, are you here? Wells disappeared! ...Without his wheelchair. Cisco? " The pretty young bioengineering expert pursed her lips. She had tried phoning him when she was leaving Jitters coffee shop.

Her cellphone chimed in her pocket. She hoped it was Cisco. Barry's picture filled the screen.

"Caitlin?"

"Barry, I need to talk to you," she spoke quickly and urgently. She had to warn him. "It's Dr. Wells, he –"

He cut her off. "There's no time for that right now, alright? There is a tsunami heading for the city. How do I stop it?"

Caitlin's nerves were on edge, but she was a quick-thinker. "Theoretically, if you can create a vortex barrier along the coast line, a wall of wind, that would be able to zap the tidal wave of its energy before it hits the city."

"By running back and forth. How fast?"

"I don't know if you can run that fast." Barry hung up on her.

She'd leave Barry to worry about the city. Caitlin was more concerned about finding Cisco. She was sure that he would be here still. A sickening feeling of dread crept into her heart. "Cisco!" she yelled his name and started searching rooms, hurrying from one to the next until she was running. "Cisco!"

The containment field!

Caitlin slowed her pace as she came upon the automatic doors. They opened with a slightly delayed swish. "Cis–" Her sight landed on a motionless figure on the floor. "Cisco!" She ran to her fallen friend and dropped to her knees beside him. The tears were already pricking her eyes as she gingerly lifted his head into her lap. With trembling fingers, she felt for a pulse. She couldn't find one. She lowered her ear to his chest, checked to see that his airway was clear, searched for a pulse again. No, he couldn't be dead. He had to be in some kind of catatonic state, right? Surely he couldn't be dead.

Caitlin sobbed. She lowered herself over Cisco's body and wept. Damn it, why couldn't the idiot have answered his phone? Wells must have done this. Who else could it have been? Anger surged forth with her despair. How could he betray them? How could he hurt Cisco? They had trusted him. "You always have your phone," she accused the corpse. "You should have answered. Maybe I could have warned you in time. Maybe I could have called Barry. You can't be dead, Cisco. You're not allowed to be dead." A wave of grief overwhelmed her and choked the words.

First Ronnie, now Cisco. How many other people would she suffer to lose? But Ronnie was alive, somewhere. Maybe he could return one day. Cisco never would. She held the proof of his death in her arms. No accident this time. Murder. Wilful murder. Was it only that morning that she had re-thanked Wells for helping Ronnie? How could the man who had saved her fiancee be the same one who had slaughtered Cisco?

The thought wrenched her heart, caused another sob.

Caitlin felt like someone had killed her little brother.

**_TheFlash_**

Barry was elated. Not only had he rescued Joe and the entire city, but Iris had professed her feelings for him and kissed him (inappropriately timed, but whatever, he was feeling great). Plus she knew his secret now, which was a burden off his shoulders. He wouldn't need to concoct anymore vague explanations.

"Man, you guys should have seen me," Barry cheered, walking into the lab, "I'm pretty sure I've run faster than I ever have before." He was met with silence. Barry's smile slipped. "Caitlin? Cisco?" he called out, confused. "I thought they were here. Caitlin?!" he tried again, louder. "Cisco?!"

Caitlin appeared, her mascara mixed with tears, running down her cheeks. Her eyes were red and puffy, her jacket wrinkled.

"Caitlin? What's wrong? What's happened?"

She glared at him. "For someone so fast, you weren't there when he needed you," she hissed.

His first thought was that something had happened to Harrison. "Is Dr. Wells okay?"

Caitlin gave a bitter, humourless laugh. "How should I know? He's gone."

"Where?"

"Wherever it is, he walked there. Bastard."

"He what?"

"Maybe if you had _listened_ when I tried to tell you, you could have been here in time."

Slowly, realization crept upon him. "Caitlin, where's Cisco?"

"Dead."

"What?" Barry thought he must have heard her wrong. No, he had saved the day. Everything had turned out fine. No one could be dead.

"Wells killed him."

"No." Barry flashed out of the room and appeared before the containment field, where Cisco still lay. He bent down, his fingers ghosting over his friend's body. He futilely searched for a pulse. "Come on, Cisco. Open your eyes, buddy. Please. No. No. No."

"He's gone, Barry," Caitlin whispered, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder. Her anger had subsided, and she reached out to comfort him. There was nothing either of them could have done. She knew that. Chances were that when she had tried calling him, Cisco was already dead. Still, she couldn't help feeling a twang of bitterness that Barry had brushed her off. Her and Cisco. He always did when he was with Iris. Caitlin swallowed the thought. It wasn't fair. She was just venting her anger on him, instead of the person who deserved it most.

Barry leaned back on his haunches and covered his face with his hands. He was crying. This had to be some kind of nightmare, right? He would wake up and find it was all a bad dream. He had saved the day. There was no way Cisco could be dead.

Caitlin bent down beside him, and looked affectionately at Cisco. She put her hand on Barry's back and rubbed it, in gentle circles, reassuring. His mother used to do the same thing when he cried.

"I should have been here."

"You couldn't have been. You had to stop that tidal wave." She smiled, sad and small. "You can't be in two places at once. Even you aren't that fast."

"I should have listened to you. Cisco knew something was wrong with Wells. He _knew. _But I was too caught up with Mardon."

"You needed to protect Joe."

"At the cost of Cisco's life?"

"You couldn't protect both of them." She said it, but she didn't wholly believe it.

They lapsed into silence. Neither of them could tell how long they sat there. A ghostly pallor had set into Cisco's skin, and he was already stiff. Caitlin finally stood up and went to him. "Barry, we need to figure out what our next steps are." She zipped up Cisco's hoodie, as though fearful he might get cold, and tucked some hair behind his ear. They would have to notify the Ramon family, figure out funeral arrangements, fabricate some kind of explanation. Cardiac arrest, maybe?

"Help me move him." Barry stooped over the body and lifted it into his arms. He didn't think he had ever held a corpse before. At his mother's funeral, he had touched Nora's face, pressed a solemn kiss to her forehead, but he had never experienced the rigidity, the heaviness of lifting a body. Dead weight. Cisco probably would have made some kind of joke about that.

Barry sped into another room and laid Cisco on the hospital bed, before covering him with a sheet. It wasn't the first time he had carried Cisco while running – but it was the last. Despite the fact that it was his friend's body he held, Barry couldn't set him down fast enough. That wasn't Cisco anymore. It was an empty shell.

Barry ran a hand down his face and sighed. Caitlin was standing over the monitors, her hand hovering over them uncertainly. "What's up?"

"There's probably security footage of what happened."

Barry's head snapped up. "We need to watch it."

Caitlin hesitated. "I'm not sure we should."

"I need to know."

"I'm not sure I can handle it," she whispered. Barry stood beside her and put an arm around her.

"You don't have to watch it, if you don't want to. But I need to see it. Please, Caitlin."

She nodded, and pulled up the footage of the containment field. She estimated the last time she had seen Wells and set it for a couple minutes before. The video started; Caitlin crushed the fingers of her left hand in her right, trying to keep down her emotions. They were about to watch Cisco's last moments.

Barry placed his hands on the table and leaned forward. They watched Cisco turn on the containment field, saw with the same shock the Reverse Flash inside of it, repeating the words that he had that night. It had been pre-recorded, a ruse. Dr. Wells appeared in the doorway. Standing. Though they had both been expecting it, Caitlin and Barry were slightly startled at seeing Wells standing upright, especially Barry, who had never known the man before he was 'confined' to a wheelchair.

Some of their words were spoken too softly to be made out completely. But they could clearly see Wells use his super-speed to create a mirage of himself, could make out the fear that stole over Cisco's face. The words "You killed Nora Allen" were loud and clear.

Barry had never felt so betrayed in his entire life. Wells had killed his mother. The man he had trusted, who had helped him hone his abilities, who – he had believed – was aiding his search for the man in the yellow suit, had been the culprit all along. He had worked side-by-side, taken into his confidence, his mother's murderer.

He had left Cisco alone with a killer.

Barry didn't think he could be surprised any further, but then it came out: Wells' intention to kill Barry, his desire to return to the future. The young man couldn't comprehend any of it. His brain couldn't fathom what he was hearing. It was too much.

Then it wasn't about him anymore. Wells advanced on Cisco. Caitlin drew closer to Barry and clutched his arm. He could feel how tense she was. This was it. This was the moment they were going to watch their friend die.

Cisco was crying silently. Caitlin wanted to scream at him, tell him to run, to lash out at Wells, to do anything. Then Wells plunged his hand into Cisco's chest. Caitlin couldn't suppress the sob, half strangled, that escaped her. Her breathing quickened, and she was close to hyperventilating. Next to her, Barry was rigid. He was clenching and unclenching his fists. His eyes flamed.

Caitlin sank into a chair and cried, gasping for breath. "Do you think Dr. Wells is capable of doing something bad?" Cisco had asked her yesterday. No, she hadn't believed that he was. That wasn't the Wells she knew. But he was capable of it. She had just witnessed what kind of _evil_ he _was_ capable of. She felt like Wells had plunged his hand into her chest and pulled her heart out. The "what if's" overwhelmed her, everything she should have done. She felt like she was going to be sick.

What if she had taken Cisco's suspicions at face value? What if she had tried harder to keep Wells away from S.T.A.R labs? What if she had called Barry from the coffee shop? She should have told Cisco that it was too dangerous. She never should have left him alone. She should have been there with him.

They knew now, what Cisco knew. His death hadn't been in vain, though that was hardly any consolation. Cisco was usually the one who developed the tech necessary to stop the meta-humans. How were they going to catch Wells without him?

Barry would do it. He would find a way – him and Caitlin. He had to. Not just for his mother – for Cisco too.

He would find Wells, and he would bring him to justice.


	2. Chapter 2: Night

_Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, faved, and followed the last chapter! I've decided to continue, and as I do I would love to have your feedback. Where would you like to see the story go? This chapter is shorter than the last one, but I wanted to begin to show the grieving process of Caitlin and Barry. (I totally ship SnowBarry, so you may see overtones of that.) Chapter One has been updated to correct any minor writing errors. I hope that you enjoy the new chapter! Thanks again to everyone! You're lovely!  
_

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**Chapter Two**

It was after ten when Barry entered Joe's hospital room. He listlessly threw his jacket on the back of a chair and collapsed heavily into it. "I expected you earlier than this," Joe commented. He was propped up in bed, his leg in a massive cast. Other than some cuts and bruises, he had broken his leg – which required a painful resetting – and a couple ribs, and he had a pretty nasty headache. Luckily he had escaped without any internal bleeding. The pain medication kept him from becoming too uncomfortable, and he was relieved that Mardon was safely in custody. Overall, he wasn't in bad shape. He had lived through much worse. "Iris left half an hour ago. Hey," he studied the sullen, ashen face and quiet demeanour of his adopted son, "what's up?"

"Cisco's dead."

Joe was at a loss for words. He didn't believe it. He couldn't equate death with the vibrant, young, healthy boy he knew. It didn't make any sense. If anyone, it should have been Joe who died that day. Finally, he was able to form a single question: "How?"

"Dr. Wells." Barry swallowed the lump in his throat. "Dr. Wells killed him. He's the Reverse Flash. He...he killed my mother, Joe."

Joe fell back against his pillows and stared at the ceiling. He had been right. He had been right about Wells the entire time. But he could feel no satisfaction. He suddenly regretted bringing Cisco into his confidence. What if it was his fault the boy was dead?

Joe genuinely wished with all of his heart that he had been wrong. He had been so caught up in getting justice for Nora that he had lost sight of how this would affect Barry. He knew how much Barry admired Wells. He should have done something to soften the blow. But he never could have expected that it would turn out like this. How earnestly he desired that anyone else in the world had killed Nora. The only betrayal that could have hurt Barry more was if his father had actually been guilty.

Joe glanced at Barry. He was slouched in the chair, staring at his hands in his lap. His eyes were wet, but he was holding in the tears. Joe was reminded of the frightened, grief-stricken child that he had taken into his home fifteen years ago. He couldn't imagine the pain that Barry must be feeling. He didn't want to say what he did next, but he had to tell Barry the truth.

"I suspected as much."

Barry's head snapped up. "You what?"

"I've suspected Wells for months now. I felt that he must have had something to do with your mother's murder. I was investigating him, and I asked Cisco to help me...The night with the Reverse Flash convinced me that Wells was innocent. I would give anything to have been wrong...I'm sorry, Barry."

Barry stood up, and started pacing at the end of Joe's bed. "You knew?" he demanded, angry and hurt. How could Joe keep something like that from him? "Why didn't you tell me? You just allowed me to get close to that _man._"

Joe sighed. "I didn't have any proof, Barry. I wasn't sure. What if I had been wrong?"

"But you weren't wrong, were you? You were right about Wells. You confided your doubts to Cisco, but not me. And now he's dead."

Joe flinched under the accusation. "I didn't want you to get hurt."

Barry tossed his head back, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Maybe I could have done something."

"What would you have done, Barry?"

"I don't know...something. You should have told me." He exhaled slowly and sat down again.

"I'm sorry, Barry. I only did what I thought was best."

"I know. You were just trying to protect me."

"If I could go back and do it differently, I would. But I can't. And neither can you," he added significantly.

"I know."

They were silent for a long time. The heart-rate monitor continued its steady beeping, and muted footsteps echoed down the halls as nurses made their rounds. Barry knew that it was going to be a long night.

"You should go home," Joe finally said. "Try to get some sleep."

"I'd rather stay here with you. I don't want to be alone." He didn't want to go home to an empty house, to the darkness and silence that awaited him there, to the nightmares.

Joe nodded knowingly. "Alright. I'd be glad of the company." He doubted either of them would sleep much that night.

_**TheFlash**_

Caitlin unlocked her apartment door, and allowed her purse to slide off her shoulder onto the floor. It was dark, but she could make out the outlines of shapes by the lights of the city, shining through the open windows. She sighed and leaned her head back against the door. She took a deep breath and attempted to steady herself. Normally when she was upset – dealing with her loss, her numbness; warding off the depression that threatened to consume her; bottling up her fears and sorrow, her concern when Barry had been injured, had almost died, again – she would stay at the lab and work late. Not tonight. She couldn't be in there tonight. She didn't know if she would ever be able to set foot in that place again.

Caitlin walked into the living room, and stood in front of her large, picture window looking out at Central City. She could see the steady, throbbing pulse of the city, the lights and cars. Life continued, just like any other night, oblivious to her grief. No loud, unmistakeable explosion to mark her loss this time. Just a quiet slipping out. A personal, life-shattering shifting of her world, that only Caitlin had to deal with.

Out there, no one knew or cared that Cisco was dead. Their monotonous existences went on as usual. Parents were putting children to bed; college coeds were looking for a good time; people oozed from theatres and bars, restaurants and shops; dogs barked and racoons turned over trash bins; couples walked arm-in-arm down neon-brightened streets; labourers working graveyard shifts trudged through the long hours, counting the minutes until they could go home to bed; somewhere an innocent victim was being mugged, or stabbed; in a hospital, a patient finally lost his battle and drew his last breath. Caitlin shivered and hugged herself.

She didn't want to be alone. Alone meant facing reality; it meant being confronted by the thoughts, the fears and doubts, that she wanted to keep buried. Alone meant admitting that Cisco was dead. Caitlin had wanted to ask Barry to stay with her. She had wanted him to come home with her. She wanted him to take care of her, tuck her into bed and wait until she fell asleep, like he had the night she had too much to drink. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her, shelter her, tell her that everything was going to be alright – even if it was a lie. She just wanted someone to be with her, make her feel safe. Barry had responsibilities though. He had other people he needed to look after – other people to look after him.

When Ronnie had died, Cisco had stayed up all night with Caitlin. The explosion of the particle accelerator had thrown the entire city into panic and confusion. The two of them had done everything they could to get the situation under control, figure out what had gone wrong, aid survivors. The need to remain calm had buoyed Caitlin through the initial anguish and despair. She hadn't had time to allow grief to overtake her. She was numb for days. Then it had come upon her all at once, crushing and consuming her. Suffocating her. She felt like she was drowning.

But Cisco had been there with her. No matter how deeply she withdrew into herself, no matter how distant she became, no matter how often she snapped at him or dismissed his invitations to watch movies or grab drinks, he stayed by her side. Her faithful companion, though she hadn't realized it until it was too late. He picked up the pieces and helped hold her together. He walked the valley with her and kept her from going under. Hid his own guilt and grief so she could begin to heal. She used to tell herself that she was trying to stay strong for him, but that wasn't true. He was the one keeping her from falling apart. She would see the sorrow in Cisco's eyes, and know that she wasn't alone. He had this unceasing love of life that infected her, taught her to appreciate her own life.

What she wouldn't give for one of Cisco's bear-hugs right now.

She should have swallowed her pride and had a Walking Dead marathon with Cisco when he asked. She had told Barry that she didn't have a social life to speak of. So why couldn't she have spared a day to watch Netflix with Cisco? He had been so excited for it. He wanted to share his fandom with her, spend some quality time with her. Why hadn't she clued into any of this when she still had the chance?

How was she going to get through this? Caitlin had never felt more forlorn in all her life. Ronnie was gone; Wells had betrayed them; Barry could seek solace from the Wests. Who did she have? She kept thinking how the one person she needed to comfort her in Cisco's death was Cisco himself.

Anger crashed upon her like a tidal wave. She damned Wells for his betrayal, for being a two-faced, lying, murderous son of a bitch. She cursed Barry for being so oblivious, for failing Cisco. She was scared that he was going to do something foolish and dangerous. She upbraided Cisco for not being more cautious, for not revealing his doubts sooner, for having the nerve to die. How dare he perish and leave her alone? She hated herself for not noticing anything was wrong, for letting Wells get away from her. What good was having a PhD if she couldn't use it to keep those she loved safe? She loathed everyone in Central City with a passion that terrified her. She wished that they had all been washed away and drowned in Mardon's tsunami. Why should they live when Cisco had died?

Caitlin had never been so furious. Violence surged within her, demanding to be unleashed. She needed to break something, anything. She would have preferred it to be Wells' neck. Suddenly, she could contain it no longer. She released a banshee scream, and laid hold of the object closest to her. It was a vase. She hurled it against the wall. It shattered. The sound reverberated against the walls and seemed to infect her very mind. Her blood roared in her veins. A frenzy sparked within her, and she began to seize more things. She pulled books off shelves, heaved anything she could lift. She ripped and scattered and shoved. She ripped down her curtains and overturned her furniture. She punched her fist through a wall.

Her energy spent, Caitlin finally stopped. She had completely ransacked her apartment. She panted and surveyed the damage. She stood amid a mess of glass, paper, and plastic, fabric and metal. The place looked like the Weather Wizard had unleashed a storm inside. But it was nothing compared to the storm that raged inside of her. Caitlin was exhausted and broken. Her knuckles were bruised and her palm was bleeding, but she hardly noticed. Her anger faded, leaving her cold and empty. Caitlin remembered suddenly the reason behind her outburst, and she collapsed to her knees. Curling up into a ball on the floor, she wept.


	3. Chapter 3: Morning

_I've decided that in this fic I really want to focus on the different ways Barry and Caitlin grieve. So be prepared for more angst! Thank you for everyone who has followed, faved, reviewed, and read this fic. You guys are awesome. Thanks for journeying with me in this incredible fandom!  
_

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**Chapter Three  
**

The first rays of dawn seeped through the window panes, and crept along the floor, bathing Caitlin's skin in a soft glow, warming her. Her eyelids fluttered, and she opened them slowly. She groaned. She still lay on the floor, where she had cried herself to sleep. She was stiff and sore. She ached all over, but the pain was good. She felt like she hadn't slept a wink.

Water. She needed water. Her throat was dry. She turned over, pushed herself up. Her palm stung with the effort. She hissed, recoiled, and examined it. There was a deep gash; the skin was raw and bloody; there were flecks of dirt surrounding it. Caitlin stumbled into the bathroom and cranked on the taps. The left tap leaked constantly, creating a pool beside the sink. She would have to remember to ask the landlord to send someone to fix it. But that didn't seem as important as it had yesterday.

The cold water bit into her skin, but Caitlin relished the coolness and the pain. It reminded her that she was alive.

She opened the medicine cabinet, pushing aside bottles and boxes of tampons, and retrieved a rolled bandage. She wrapped the white fabric around her palm. One time, before the particle accelerator was completed, Cisco had cut himself on a piece of metal. She had bandaged his hand in much the same way. She remembered how childlike he had looked, as he watched her careful movements. He reminded her of a little child who had been caught touching something he wasn't supposed to. He apologized like one too, after she scolded him, which was silly. What should he be apologizing for?

Caitlin closed the cabinet door, bringing her face-to-face with herself. Ghastly. She could have been a corpse, propped up against the sink. She was pale and colourless; her eyes looked sunken and were dark rimmed; her hair was a tangled mess. She wondered how she would look in death, and whether her death would come soon or later, if it would be sudden or a long process. To think each year she was passing the anniversary of her death without even knowing it. And not just the anniversary of her death, but those of everyone she had ever known. Would she live long enough to mark those dates as well? She supposed she should shower, but she didn't feel like it. Even the thought of it seemed like too much work. Instead, she splashed water on her face, and wrenched a brush through her hair, pulling it back tautly and securing it with a black ponytail.

Mechanically, she performed some version of her normal daily routine: dressed, made a cup of coffee, ran a load through the dishwasher, brushed her teeth. She completed each action like a human automaton, precise and regular, but without feeling. Her mind was someplace else, or else off completely. She did not think, did not feel. She had had years of practice. Machines weren't the only things she had learned to program.

Caitlin was numb. As she drank her coffee in the midst of her ransacked living room, it vaguely occurred to her that she would need to clean everything up. She couldn't just leave the place like this...well, maybe. No, she would have to do it. Eventually. She shrugged the responsibility off. There was plenty of time later. She had the rest of her life to do it.

When she had completed her performance, she decided that she would go see Barry. She donned her jacket and purse, grabbed keys from a table in the entryway. That was when she noticed the flashing light on her answering machine. She had three missed calls.

The first was from the cable company – a special offer for a package deal that she would never use. There was something mocking in the call, because of its mundanity, its mendacity. Television lied to her, told her things always worked out in the end, that the dead came back to life. She deleted that message. The second one was a woman.

"Hello, Dr. Snow. This is Mrs. Ramon calling," a sniffle and sob punctuated the words, as the voice struggled to form coherent sentences; the accent was thickened by emotion. "Cisco's mother. I want to thank you for contacting us and seeing my baby," another sob, "arrived safely to the morgue. We have decided, as a family, that we will not be needing your help with funeral arrangements. Though we thank you for your offer. We want to keep this as much in the family as possible." Caitlin dug her fingernails into her gauzed palm. Cisco's words drifted through her mind. _Dante can do no wrong. _She wondered how well his parents really knew him. They would probably play some light rock crap Cisco hated at the funeral. _I can do no right. _The thought saddened her. Only in death would the Ramons finally appreciate their son.

Caitlin believed family consisted of more than just blood; family was the people who loved you no matter what, who knew every quirk and strange inkling, the people who got you through the day. But what could she do? What right did she have to challenge Cisco's mother? Maybe she should be glad that she wouldn't be a part of the arrangements. "We'll call you in the coming days to let you know about the funeral," the voice broke completely at the end, and the caller hung up, leaving Caitlin with nothing but a cold click and silence. No goodbye, no parting, no mutual condolences. Nothing. Caitlin deleted the message.

The final message was only fifteen minutes old. She hadn't even heard the phone ringing, which was odd. Usually she was super-aware of sounds. How could she have missed it? The caller was Barry. He was home now; Joe had wanted him to get out of the hospital for a while. He wanted to see her. _Needed to see her _would have been more correct, not that she could discern that from his words.

Caitlin hurried out. The warm sunshine greeted her as she stepped outside and caressed her cheek. She glared at the sun and donned sunglasses in protest. Stupid burning ball of gas. How dare it sustain life on the earth today? How dare it shine when Cisco was dead?

_**TheFlash**_

Caitlin knocked on the Wests' front door. She had been to the house a few times before, with Ronnie, with Cisco. They had spent a delightful Christmas Eve there. It was a house that felt like a home, a house full of memories. She liked seeing where Barry had grown up.

Caitlin knocked again – something she had never, ever had to do before. Barry didn't open the door until the third knock. As he opened it, she saw her own grief mirrored back at her, the dark rimmed eyes, the paper skin, the long drawn face.

He reached out for her as she entered, and held her in a tight, wordless embrace. His arms wrapped around her, as though he would never let go. He reassured himself with her warmth. She closed her eyes, and her hands clutched at the back of his shirt. She breathed him in. Life. This was life.

"It took you a while," she commented, releasing him.

"I feel sluggish today. Slow."

"Would you like to get some coffee?" she asked, gently, though caffeine did him as much good as alcohol. His metabolism was too fast.

"Yeah, that sounds good." He reached behind her to grab his jacket. As he did so, his eyes fell on her bandaged hand. Taking it gingerly in his own, he examined it, scrutinized her bruised knuckles. "What happened, Caitlin?"

"I cut myself on something. Probably a vase shard." Barry's brow wrinkled in concern, and his eyebrows cocked questioningly. She sighed. "I may have smashed...a few... ... dozen things," she mumbled. "Punched a wall. Destroyed my apartment."

"Caitlin."

"Barry, it just kind of happened."

He nodded. "I'll come by later and help you clean up. You have to promise me to be more careful."

She smiled ironically. "I will be when you are."

They drove to Jitters, and grabbed seats in the corner. Caitlin kept staring at the table she had sat at with Wells only yesterday, sipping her coffee and attempting to stall. She wondered what they had done with the wheelchair. She imagined it wasn't often that people just abandoned wheelchairs. She hoped they had donated it to a hospital or something, a place that could use it. Or thrown it out back in a dumpster, just waiting to be crushed. Maybe she would check later. She wondered how difficult it would be to set a wheelchair on fire...or a man in a yellow suit.

"Caitlin, are you listening?"

"Yes. No. I'm sorry, Barry. What were you saying?"

"I asked you how your night was."

"Small talk, really?" He shrugged. "It was about what I expected it would be – shitty." Caitlin had always been one for blunt honesty. "What about you? Did you sleep at all?"

"Not much. I'm exhausted from all the running I did yesterday, but I just couldn't sleep, you know? I was scared that if I closed my eyes..." he trailed off and absently took a drink.

"You would see his face?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

Caitlin traced the rim of her mug with her finger. The heat floated upward and warmed her skin. It reminded her of Ronnie, of flames. She wondered where he was. Maybe she should try and find him, tell him about Cisco. She knew how much the two of them had cared about each other – almost like brothers. Cisco had looked up to Ronnie – he had never hidden that – and Ronnie had been protective of him, hadn't been afraid to tease him. She looked at Barry. No matter how much she loved Barry, there were parts of her life that he would never be able to enter into. He hadn't known Ronnie _before _or Cisco, when they had all believed that they could accomplish anything. He couldn't enter into the time, into the world, that had existed between her, Cisco, Ronnie, and even Wells.

They were silent for a long time. Finally, Caitlin asked, "Do you remember when a bee got into the lab a few weeks ago?"

He cocked his head to the side. "I don't think so."

"I have no idea how it got into the lab – just some freak occurrence I guess. Poor Cisco, he has his irrational fear of bees. It was a fat honey bee, and it couldn't really have done him any harm. He wasn't allergic or anything. But he was terrified. When he saw it land on the computer, he jumped up so quickly he tumbled out of his chair." She smiled at the memory. "He starting spouting all these stories about killer bees, and he came over and cowered behind my chair. I started laughing. I couldn't help it. He had such a funny look on his face. And Wells was laughing too. And Cisco just kept yelling accusations at the bee. Then you came in."

"Yeah, I remember. I didn't even need to use my speed to catch it."

"And you set it free outside."

"I never could bring myself to harm any of life's little creatures."

"That's what I love about you. Cisco kept raving about that bee all day. I haven't laughed that hard in a long, long time." They both chuckled.

"Poor Cisco, he was scared to death." They grew quiet and stared down at their mugs.

Finally, Caitlin whispered, "Other than Ronnie, no one could make me laugh the way Cisco could."

"Caitlin," Barry reached for her hand; he could see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "I kn–"

"Hey guys!" They were interrupted by a cheery voice.

"Hey, Iris." Caitlin looked at Barry in bewilderment. "What are you doing here?"

"Coffee run." She smiled and lifted a tray of coffees for him to see. "What's up?" Neither responded right away. The aspiring journalist inspected their faces. She didn't know Caitlin well enough to be able to read her well, but even she couldn't miss the heartache written on her features, the tears in her eyes. She had never seen Caitlin cry. She was surprised; she didn't think Caitlin knew how to cry. Barry's face she read in an instant. Him she could read like an open book. But she didn't understand the cause. "What's wrong?"

Barry hesitated. He glanced at Caitlin, but she looked away. "Cisco, uh," he cleared his throat, "he died, Iris."

"What?" From the corner of her eye, Caitlin could see the young woman's face crumple. God, she looked pretty even like that. "What happened?"

"Heart attack." That was what they were telling people. Yesterday they had decided to keep Wells' involvement a secret, until they could figure out what to do.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry." Iris' hand flew to her mouth. "He seemed so healthy."

"He was."

"Oh, Barry." Iris put her coffees on the table and wrapped her arms around him, pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I wish you would have called me. How are you doing?"

"I'm holding up."

"This is terrible. I can't believe it." She turned her attention to Caitlin. "I'm so sorry, Caitlin. He was a good man. This must be so hard for you." She reached for her hand, but Caitlin drew it back. She didn't want Iris' sympathy. This woman didn't know her, didn't know Cisco. Who the hell was she? For months Caitlin had had to watch Barry in pain, watch him get beat up and nearly killed a hundred times, watch as he struggled to keep all of this a secret from her, because he wanted to protect her. Caitlin could feel the anger from yesterday returning.

"I think I'm going to go." She swallowed her feelings and the dregs of her coffee, grabbed her stuff, and left before anyone could say another word. The anger scared her. She didn't know how to stop it. Part of her didn't want to, and that scared her even more. Was this who she was destined to become?

"Caitlin!" Barry jogged up to her outside and grabbed her arm. "Are you okay? What is it?"

"Just let me go, Barry."

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

"Caitlin –"

"I just need to be alone, okay?" She didn't even know how to begin to tell him what was wrong. She wasn't exactly sure herself. But she needed some space to clear her head. He released her.

"I'm here for you."

"I know."

"Caitlin, don't do anything reckless."

"Why would you say that?"

"I don't know." There was something in her face that had made him say it. He didn't know what.

"I'll be alright. I'm just going to go home."

"Okay. I'll come by later and help you clean up."

"Okay." If she stayed there any longer, he would wear her down, and she would melt into a puddle of tears on the pavement at his feet. She just couldn't handle any of this right now. "Goodbye, Barry."

A tone of finality rang in her words, and it scared him. Somehow things had shifted, a gulf had opened. Barry watched her get into her car and drive away. He should have gone after her, but he didn't. And he would come to regret it.


	4. Chapter 4: Desperate Measures

**Chapter Four  
**

Barry didn't come after her.

Caitlin knew she had said she wanted to be alone – and she had at the time – but she wished that he would have followed her, would have made sure that she was alright. When she said she needed to be alone what she meant was she needed to be alone with _him_. What she had needed was to get away from the crowds, from Jitters, from Iris, from people who didn't know her.

She had lied to Barry when she said she was going home. She hadn't known where she was headed, but even when she said it she knew that she could not return to her apartment. It was too quiet there, and the mess would just serve to remind her of last night, and of the chaos of her own life.

As Caitlin drove up and down the streets of Central City, she started to consider where she should go. Most of her life was spent between her apartment, Jitters, and S.T.A.R Lab, but she couldn't go to any of those places. She had no errands to run, nor any work to do, not that she could have proceeded to accomplish something so mundane on that particular day. It was too soon for another coffee, and too early to start drinking. She considered stopping in to see Cisco's parents, but she was sure they wouldn't want to see her, and she didn't actually want to see them.

So Caitlin did the only thing that she could do: drive. For hours, Caitlin drove aimlessly through the city. She had no destination in mind, taking turns at intersections at random. She ended up in parts of the city she had never seen before, but she didn't care. The driving gave her something to do.

Sitting alone in her car, her thoughts bombarded her. She could think of nothing but Cisco and Wells. She replayed a thousand memories, trying to see if she could identify anything in their past that indicated that Wells could be capable of something like this. Was there anything in his behaviour that should have alerted her to the fact that he was a cold-blooded murderer? How could she not have known his true character? How could she have worked so closely with the man who had killed an innocent woman fifteen years ago, when his true objective had been to murder a young child? Worse, oh god how it made her stomach churn, how could she have admired such a man? It disgusted her to think how truly two-faced Wells was.

And as she started to reexamine every day, every hour, she had spent working with Wells, she couldn't escape the other memories that came rushing in. She remembered when Dr. Wells interviewed her for the lab position, how she felt when she had received the job. She thought about the day Ronnie had asked her to marry him, and how excitedly Wells and Cisco had congratulated her. She recalled in perfect detail the first time she met Cisco, the way he had his hair pulled back from his face, how he wore a graphic t-shirt under a blazer. Hartley had been his usual rude and arrogant self, and when she first saw Cisco, he had looked more like a kicked puppy than the enthusiastic mechanical engineer she came to know and love. She and Ronnie had introduced themselves, and she had given him some words of encouragement for his first day, and Ronnie had made some joke she couldn't remember now. Cisco had started to relax and he smiled – Cisco, Caitlin thought, had the most genuine smile in the entire world – and he had started talking. He hadn't shut up since.

_Until now_, she thought.

Then the tears came. The numbness she had been feeling all day broke down, the floodgates opened, and she bawled in the driver's seat of her car. She attempted to continue driving, but her vision was blurred, and she was forced to pull over on the side of the road. She rested her head against the steering wheel and allowed herself to cry, great sobs that shook her entire body. Her face and hands tingled, she couldn't catch her breath. She was too tired to keep crying, but she couldn't stop.

Caitlin feared that perhaps this was what the rest of her life would be like. Walking through each day like an automaton, until something broke through her surface, broke her. How much of her life would be spent oscillating between the numbness and rage, loneliness and despair? After everything she had gone through, how could she possibly be expected to start over, let alone keep going on?

She didn't think she could.

Caitlin turned the ignition, and pulled away from the curb. She forced herself to hold the tears in long enough to drive to the bridge at the edge of the city. She parked the car, got out, and walked onto the bridge, half-way across. Then she stopped. Putting her hands on the ledge, she leaned over the side and stared into the churning depths below. The water was so dark it looked almost black. She thought the wind-whipped waves were a pleasing sight. They would rock her into a dreamless, painless sleep, and the murky surface would close over her, and she could finally rest. When was the last time she had rested?

_Caitlin, what are you doing?_

The voice sounded as though it were right beside her – loud and clear. And worried. "Cisco?" she looked around frantically, then shook her head. "Of course it wasn't him. I'm hearing things." This final idea caused her no little distress, since Caitlin had built her life on empirical evidence and the capacity of her senses. Whatever it had been, it was enough to jolt Caitlin from her emotional state. "What _am_ I doing?" She wasn't one to behave impulsively or to be driven by her passions, no matter how intense or despairing they might be. She took a deep breath and attempted to steady herself.

Caitlin couldn't give into this urge – not now. It wouldn't be fair to Cisco. He deserved justice, and she was determined to get it for him. Wells needed to pay for what he had done, and she knew that Barry wouldn't be able to stop him on his own. He would need Caitlin's help. That was what she needed to focus on – Wells. She would take it one day at a time, make this her sole mission; leave the rest of her life to worry about itself.

The question was: what should her next step be? Caitlin climbed back into her car. She needed to find Wells, but she couldn't do that until she figured out _who _the man was, and what he was doing. She knew where she needed to go.

_**TheFlash**_

Iris had wanted to stay with Barry, but he told her to go back to work. There wasn't anything she could do for him right then. He would be at the hospital visiting Joe, and she could reach him there if she needed to. She was reluctant to leave him, and protested, but he was firm in his decision. She should continue with her day.

Barry didn't feel like running, so he took a cab to the hospital. It was slow-going, but he enjoyed the time it gave him to think. Was it only yesterday he had kissed Iris? Barry took the elevator to the sixth floor, dodged the inquiring glances of the nurses, and entered Joe's room. He dropped into the chair he had occupied during the night, released a sigh, and laid his head back.

"Didn't think I would be seeing you this early," Joe commented. "I thought I told you to get out of here."

"I tried."

"What happened?" Barry explained how he and Caitlin had gone to the coffee-shop and run into Iris, how he had told Iris about Cisco's death, and the way in which Caitlin had abruptly left, how he felt like he didn't really want to be anywhere else. Then, as an afterthought, he told Joe about the cut on Caitlin's hand, and how she had sustained it. "Barry," Joe sighed. Sometimes his foster son could be dense. "Do you really think you should have let Caitlin go off on her own?"

"She said she wanted to be alone."

"But she clearly wasn't in a state to drive."

"I thought she would be okay."

"If you thought that then you wouldn't look as upset as you did when you came in that door. Listen, Barry, do you remember when your mom died?"

Barry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It seemed like a ridiculous question – how could he forget something like that? He didn't know where this was going, but he wasn't sure he would like it. "Yeah."

"You suddenly found yourself alone in the world. It was a confusing and desperate time, so I brought you home with me, and from that moment on you became a member of our family."

"I don't know what I would have done without you and Iris."

"I imagine Caitlin is feeling much the same way as you did then."

This didn't fully make sense to Barry. "But she's not a kid." And, he thought, she hadn't just lost a parent - though Barry of all people should have realized that family doesn't end with blood. Fifteen years ago, Barry had suddenly found himself near-orphaned, and completely dependent on the kindness of others for his well-being. He hadn't known who he could turn to for help. Caitlin was a grown woman, who could support herself, keep a roof over her own head. She had years of experience and connections to sustain her.

"That's not the point. You can feel that kind of isolation at any age. Ronnie's gone, Cisco's dead, and Wells has betrayed her. This is a heart-breaking and confusing time for her. She probably doesn't know who she can trust. You're the person she has closest to her." Barry considered this. He supposed there was validity in this statement. Caitlin probably didn't feel like she had anyone else to turn to. But he still didn't understand what had happened at Jitters. Joe watched Barry's face as the young man attempted to figure things out. "Did she say where she was going?"

"Home."

"Maybe you should check and make sure she actually went there." Barry hadn't considered that Caitlin would go anywhere other than where she said, but suddenly it occurred to him that she may have told him she was going home so as not to worry him. He remembered the look on her face when they had parted, and he raced from the room. He didn't feel sluggish anymore. Concern gave him the strength to run.

Barry flashed into her apartment. "Caitlin?" he called her name, and surveyed the mess. Wow, she really had destroyed the place. His brow wrinkled, and he flashed out again. Barry searched the entire city, but she was no where to be found. It was like she had disappeared. He didn't want to give up, but he didn't know what to do. He had tried calling her several times, but her phone went straight to voice-mail each time.

Barry was about to call her again, when his own cell-phone rang. "Did you find her?" Joe asked, as soon as Barry answered.

"Not yet. I've looked everywhere, Joe."

"I think I know where she is."

"Where?"

"Eddie just called to tell me, the police are responding to a B&amp;E call. Someone tripped the alarm at Harrison Wells' house. You better get over there before they do." Barry hung up and ran faster than he had that day.

_**TheFlash**_

Caitlin was inside the house. It looked almost as bad as her apartment. In her mad pursuit for answers, she had overturned Wells' study, and was now making her way through the rest of the house. She was growing increasingly frustrated. She couldn't find a shred of evidence. He must keep everything at some separate location. What she did notice only further convinced her of things she already knew: the house, particularly bathroom and kitchen, were not designed to be paraplegic-accessible; and if the man was Harrison Wells, there was a strange lack of any kind of keepsakes. No photos of family members, no mementos of his dearly beloved late wife Tess. But there was nothing to suggest where Wells might have gone.

Caitlin was standing in the center of the living room, attempting to determine her next steps, when she suddenly became aware of distant sirens. Damn, she hadn't been careful, and had probably set off the alarm.

Suddenly, she was whisked from the room, and stood outside in a nest of trees, half a mile from the house, in under a second. "Caitlin, what are you doing?" Barry demanded. He was wearing civilian clothes, but his hair was a tangled mess, as though he had been doing a deal of running.

"You'll wear out those shoes if you continue to run in them." She didn't appreciate being moved without consent or warning.

"Caitlin," Barry's voice was stern, and further fuelled her frustration.

"What, Barry?"

"What were you doing breaking into Wells' house?"

"I was looking for answers."

"And you thought you would do that by breaking the law?"

"What else was I supposed to do, just sit around and wait – for what? The longer we wait, the further Wells gets away from us."

"You should have called me."

"So you could do what, talk me out of it?"

"No, to help you. There's a better way. We need to do this together, Caitlin."

"You mean the way you helped, Cisco? Or the way we worked together to protect him, huh?" Caitlin spat the words at him, but as soon as she said them, she didn't feel angry. She felt tired and sad. Her search had been fruitless, and she was starting to feel hopeless. She just wanted to go home and sleep. Barry saw the change, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"We're going to get him, Caitlin," he breathed into her hair. "I promise." Caitlin clutched at his shirt and buried her face in his shoulder.

"I know." She wanted to believe him.


	5. Chapter 5: Grief

_This time I have a good excuse for not updating. I had written this chapter (that is, handwrote, on paper) two weeks ago today. But my dog died unexpectedly the next day, and I have been dealing with a loss of my own. I couldn't bring myself to type the chapter up until now, because so many elements of Cailtin's grief suddenly became my own. It was an unsettling coincidence. Without thinking about it, I watched the same movie Caitlin does - and that was just one parallel. So I hope you will be gracious for my slow update. (If you have a pet you dearly love, I know that you understand what I'm going through.)_

_This chapter doesn't have much action. Nor will the next chapter. But things will pick up in Chapter Seven. I really wanted to have a chapter demonstrating the everyday kind of grief people experience. Because despite their supernatual, heroic filled lives (and the fact they're fictional, though the more I write this fic, the more real Barry and Caitlin seem to me!), Caitlin and Barry are human._

* * *

**Chapter Five – Grief**

Barry took Caitlin home, and helped her put her apartment back in order. Alternating between his speed and a normal human pace, the two of them had the place cleaned up by late in the evening. The sun dipped low in the sky, casting its orange rays over the city. Everything below seemed to be crawling.

"It looks better than it did before," Caitlin joked feebly. She wasn't good at humour; that had always been more of Cisco's thing. Barry raised an eyebrow at her. It was the most she had said since he had discovered her at Wells' house. She didn't want to talk about why she had been there, and she had decided not to tell Barry about her other afternoon adventure. If she did, he would probably never let her out of his sight again. His hovering wouldn't be good for either of them, and it would only hinder their search for Wells.

"Caitlin, are you sure you're okay?"

Caitlin sighed. Case in point: he wouldn't let go of this destroying the apartment episode. Give into one moment of un-suppressible rage, and you'll never hear the end of it. "I'm fine, Barry." For now, at least, though she doubted she would ever truly be "okay." How could she explain to Barry that everyone grieves differently? That she was reacting in ways she herself didn't expect, or even understand? Had she been able to emotionally detach from the situation, perhaps she would have compared her attempts to cope – or lack thereof – after Ronnie's death with those of Cisco's, for the sake of scientific curiosity of course. But she couldn't do that. It hurt too much. It was too real. And she never wanted to reach the point where she could detach herself in that way. As bad as this felt, she knew how the numbness felt, how dangerous it was, how it was worse than the pain could ever be, how the numbness would hurt everyone around her. "You should go home and get some rest. You look terrible."

"So do you."

Caitlin rolled her eyes. "That's not usually something girls appreciate hearing."

"You know what I meant."

"Well, as soon as you leave, I have a date with my bed."

"Is that a promise?"

"That's a definite promise."

Barry wrapped his strong arms around Caitlin and pulled her into a warm embrace. He held Caitlin's body against his, and laid his cheek against the side of her head. She could feel the steady _thump, thump, thump _of his heartbeat. It made her aware of her own. How could her heart keep on beating after it had been broken?

Caitlin encircled her arms around Barry's neck, and she buried her face in his shoulder. He smelled of sweat and coffee and day-old aftershave. It wasn't an altogether pleasant scent, but it was earthy and familiar, and exactly what Barry should have smelled like. This thought comforted Caitlin, and she breathed him in deeply. She emptied her mind, thought of nothing. She just enjoyed the warmth and closeness – every touch of his skin; every smell; every sound of breath and the soft ticking on the clock. She allowed herself this one moment of comfort.

She should have accepted more of the hugs Cisco had offered after Ronnie died. But she had recoiled from his arms, withdrawn into the shell of her own skin. Caitlin had learned too late the healing power of physical touch.

They stood that way for several minutes. It wasn't weird or awkward or sexual; to Caitlin, it felt like home. But it had to end. Barry broke the embrace. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her back, so he could consider her face. His eyes searched hers. Then he kissed her forehead. "Good night, Cait."

"Good night, Barry."

After he left, Caitlin changed into pyjamas, collapsed into bed, and cocooned herself in clean sheets. Within minutes, she had drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

_**TheFlash**_

Caitlin slept for days. Not literally, though she wished that she could. Caitlin felt as though she had sleep-walked through the following days, unaware of her surroundings, unable to recall what passed.

The next day she didn't wake up until quarter after two in the afternoon. She was shocked. She had never slept in so long in her life – not even when she was a teenager, or when she had had the flu. She had based her life on mottoes like "The early bird gets the worm," and "Early to bed, early to rise." She tossed aside the covers and threw her legs over the side of the bed. But she couldn't find the motivation to actually stand up, get up and do anything.

The day was already more than half over. What could she possibly do with herself? She didn't have any energy, despite how long she had slept. Nature's call finally gave her the strength to push herself up and go to the bathroom. She grabbed a bottle of water, some aspirin, a box of doughnuts and a bag of chips, and she spent the rest of the day in bed, watching mindless and predictable movies on Netflix that contained neither death or any of the geeky stuff Cisco enjoyed, waiting for a justifiable hour when she could sleep again.

When Ronnie had died, people had brought her food. It had seemed strange to her then, when she had no appetite or any desire to take care of her body, but she understood now. Those meals – most of which she had ended up freezing – had kept her fed for weeks. She told herself she was eating them to be gracious, to keep people's thoughtfulness from going to waste, to demonstrate some semblance of gratitude for their support, but they had known better than she the meaning of those dishes. She would have starved without them. She'd had no motivation to cook for herself.

No meals and flowers, muted condolences and hushed whispers outside her door, this time. It occurred to her that maybe she should buy something and take it to the Ramon household. When Ronnie had passed, Mrs. Ramon had sent a lovely zucchini lasagna to work with Cisco. "The recipe called for basil," he said shyly, as he handed the dish to her, "but I told Mom to find a substitute, because I know you're allergic." Her rare and bizarre allergy. She was touched he remembered. "I hope it tastes okay."

Something else Caitlin would never be able to repay Cisco for.

The following day wasn't much better, except that Caitlin migrated to the couch, and was willing to accept a phone call from Barry, after refusing his first two.

He wanted to come over.

Despite his company, she remained in her pyjama bottoms – though at least she had the decency to put on a clean t-shirt. Barry didn't look any better than she did.

He asked her how she was doing. Fine. And himself? About the same. Why hadn't she answered the phone yesterday? She'd needed the quiet. She hadn't left the house, if that was what he was worried about. He knew that. He had checked in on her. If Joe hadn't been in the hospital, Barry would have spent the day at home too. No, he wouldn't have. She knew that, despite what he said. He would have gotten too restless. He was the kind of person who always needed to be moving. To feel the wind whipping past him as he ran.

Fair enough.

The didn't say another word. Small talk was exhausting. They curled up next to each other on her couch and spent the day watching dvds. As Caitlin was switching out one disc for another, Barry asked, "Did you hear from Mrs. Ramon?"

"No, I unplugged the landline yesterday. And I only had my cell on long enough to answer your call."

"Oh." Caitlin closed the player's tray and resumed her position beside Barry. "The funeral is on Saturday," he informed her, keeping his eyes fixed on the television screen.

"Is it?"

"Yeah. You're going to go, aren't you?"

"Yes."

They watched the previews in silence. When he was a kid, Barry had hated fast-forwarding through movie previews. They pumped him up for the main feature. Sometimes the excitement they gave him, the anticipation, was better than the movie itself. "What are we watching?" he asked.

"Jurassic Park."

"Hm." It didn't seem like a Caitlin movie of choice.

"I borrowed it from Cisco weeks ago. He kept insisting I watch it, because I've never seen it before. He said if I wanted to be able to call myself a bioengineer, then I had to watch it at least once." She rolled her eyes. "Now, though..." Cisco had tried planning a movie night she constantly kept postponing. "I wonder...what am I supposed to do with the dvd? Should I give it to Mrs. Ramon? I doubt she'd have any use for it. Do I keep it? Am I allowed?...What will happen to all his other dvds? All his things? Who gets those? Who could ever love them the way Cisco did?"

Caitlin started crying. Barry's arms sought her. She collapsed against his chest and sobbed. Her tears soaked through his shirt. Her breath and his flesh beneath made the damp spots hot. She could feel his tears falling into her hair, diffusing along her scalp, as they trailed down his cheeks.

They cried together. The dvd's main menu idled on the same thirty second loop, but they didn't hear it. Barry held her until she stopped. Then she sat up, wiped at her eyes and nose – dripping snot like tears – with a kleenex, and pressed PLAY.

Barry hadn't said anything while she cried. There was nothing he could say. They didn't speak during the movie. Caitlin appreciated it. Words were empty and useless. There wasn't anything either of them could say that would alleviate the pain. She didn't want words of comfort or explanations, reassurances or small-talk. She didn't want anyone to try to talk away her pain. She wanted the truthfulness and familiarity of silence, and his presence there beside her on the sofa.


	6. Chapter 6: Funeral

_I am overwhelmed by the support this story has received, and I want to thank everyone for their reviews, favs, follows, and messages, and I hope that you will continue to do so (despite my terrible updating abilities). Another chapter on grief, with more action to come - I promise!  
_

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**Chapter Six: Funeral**

By Saturday, Caitlin had pulled herself together relatively well. She was showered and dressed; her hair was semi-styled in a half up-do, keeping it out of her face while softening her features. She even went through the effort of applying make-up and selecting jewelry. Eventually she would need to get back into the habit of doing these things, and Cisco's funeral seemed the best occasion for doing so. It was her way of being strong for him, like he had always been for her.

She wore a knee-length black dress with three-quarter sleeves and bodice adorned with dark green lace. Dark green, her mother had always told her, was a good colour for redheads. It was a pretty dress, one of her most expensive purchases, but she had worn it only once – to Ronnie's funeral. She wondered if it was right to wear it to Cisco's funeral too. Was there an etiquette for how many times you could wear the same dress to funerals? Maybe this should become her designated funeral dress. She'd never want to wear it anywhere else. It would be too optimistic to hope that she'd never have to wear it again.

When the day came, maybe they would bury Caitlin in this dress.

She had to stop thinking about it. No one would notice or care either way. _I'd feel more comfortable if everyone just wore t-shirts, _she could almost hear Cisco laugh. He had said that to her once – no, not to her, to Ronnie. They had been discussing a funeral scene from some movie she had never watched. "You don't really get to decide," Ronnie had reminded him, with a broad smile. How cruelly ironic it seemed now.

There was a knock at the door. It was Barry, arrayed in a black suit with a plain navy tie. The sleeves of his jacket were slightly too long, giving him the appearance of a little boy trying on Daddy's clothes. But still he looked very handsome, or he would have, if his face hadn't been so sad.

"You look nice." Honestly, he thought Caitlin looked beautiful_, _but the word seemed inappropriate.

"Thank you."

"Are you ready?"

"As much as I'll ever be." She grabbed her purse and followed him to his car. It was the first time in almost a year that Barry had driven anywhere. He no longer had any use for driving. But he couldn't just appear at the funeral, suddenly flash into the graveyard among the mourners. Besides, he didn't feel much like running in his funeral attire, and Caitlin needed the ride.

"Hi, Joe," she greeted, climbing into the passenger seat. The cop was positioned slightly sideways in the backseat, to make room for his large leg cast and crutches. The bruises on his face were still a ghastly bluish-yellow, but overall he looked much better. At least he was out of the hospital.

"Caitlin."

They drove in silence, the radio playing faintly in the background. The Ramons had decided on a graveside funeral, and it was a beautiful day for it – not a cloud in the sky, the air warm and the sun golden. Caitlin wished it was raining. Rain would fit her mood perfectly.

As they neared the cemetery, Caitlin asked, "Did you go to the wake?" The Ramons had held the wake in their home, the night before the funeral, offering mourners a chance to say their last goodbyes before they closed the coffin forever.

Caitlin had chosen not to go; she couldn't have sat around discussing Cisco's life with ladies who dabbed their eyes with lacy handkerchiefs and asked her to taste their homemade casseroles; strapping men from his childhood that he didn't like to talk about, swapping stories about memories she didn't have, laughing lightly at Cisco's oddities, when those very quirks were what Caitlin loved; distant relatives he hadn't seen in years, who hadn't even known he had already graduated college, let alone worked in S.T.A.R Labs where he secretly helped the Flash.

But mostly, Caitlin had chosen not to attend, because she knew she couldn't have handled seeing Cisco laid out in his casket. There had been nothing to bury at Ronnie's funeral, but she remembered when her grandmother died. "Wakes are a chance to view the body and accept that person is really gone," a great-aunt had told her, speaking slowly, as though she were explaining the concept to a five-year old. "Granny is _gone._" She had been thirteen, surrounded by old ladies who clucked and pestered, pressuring her to kiss her grandmother goodbye before they closed the casket. Caitlin had walked up, her feet like lead, and gazed down at the corpse inside. Her own breath was warm and made her lips moist. Behind her, she heard her father bemoaning the loss of his mother. But she couldn't do it. She could not touch the thing before her. It was grotesque and offensive. That wasn't her grandmother lying there; it was some crude mannequin fashioned in her image. The skin waxy and gossamer, the cheeks unnaturally pink, the lips too red.

Caitlin didn't want to see Cisco like that.

"Yeah, I went" Barry responded, "but I didn't stay long."

"What was he wearing?"

Barry cast her a sideways glance. "Well, he was in a suit."

"Oh." That was what she had feared. She had never known Cisco to wear suits, and she thought a blazer over a graphic t-shirt, like he had been wearing his first day at S.T.A.R Labs, would have been much more appropriate. "How did he look?"

"Not like himself. I remember when my mom died, our neighbour had told me that she just looked like she was sleeping. But she didn't, and neither did Cisco. The undertaker puts make-up on the bodies, I guess to give them a more life-like appearance, but it just looks fake. My mother hardly ever wore make-up; it just made her look like a doll. A porcelain doll, not a real human being. It was the same with Cisco. His hair was too neat, too slick, his cheeks too rosy."

Caitlin nodded. She knew that would happen, and she was glad that she had not been forced to see him like that, that her last image of him would be of his long, messy hair and rumpled hoodie. But part of her regretted not going, not having that final time to touch his hand, to look at his face. The last time would always be the night he died at S.T.A.R Labs.

"I had to bury an empty casket when Ronnie died...There had been nothing left to bury." Having nothing hurt worse – being robbed of that chance, whether she would have taken it or not, of one final kiss on those lips she had loved so dearly. In a way, however, it was also better: she didn't like the thought of Ronnie in the cold, dark ground, surrounded by dirt and bugs. Enclosed. But Ronnie was alive, a part of the very flames she thought had cremated him, and she'd gotten her final kiss. A hot, passionate one that had nearly singed her lips.

Caitlin shivered. She didn't like the thought of Cisco being in the ground. She knew he was claustrophobic. He would have hated being in a small box.

They relapsed into silence. Joe shifted uncomfortably in the backseat. He wished he could be driving. He was a do-er, and he hated the passiveness his injuries demanded. He felt broken and useless. He wanted to be out there, helping Barry track down Wells. He wanted to distract himself from all this talk of death.

Barry parked the car behind a row of others, glinting like metal beetles in the sun. The cemetery was a blur of green grass, broken by rows of grey tombstones, dotted by flowers here and there – reds and purples, oranges and yellows – and other assorted gifts left for departed loved ones. They could see a cluster of dark-clothed figures standing on the hillside. Barry helped Joe out of the car, and assisted him as he gained his balance and fitted his arms around the crutches. Then he came over to Caitlin, and took her hand in his own.

As they went to join the other mourners, Barry recognized Iris and Eddie walking towards them. He released Caitlin's hand, letting it fall limply to her side. Eddie looked about the same as he did everyday, except for the deep lines around his eyes and forehead. Iris wore a tasteful black dress with full sleeves, her hair pulled into a ponytail from her downcast face. She greeted her father with a hug and kiss on the cheek, while Eddie shook hands with Barry and Caitlin.

Iris let go of her father and embraced Barry. She smelled as she always did – like printer's ink and pomegranates. She felt familiar and warm in his arms; he knew every inch of her hug. She had given him thousands since childhood. But things were different now. She had said she loved him; they had kissed; she knew he was the Flash. Their relationship should be different.

Should be. They should have been planning their lives together, not standing on the hillside among gravestones. But Wells had killed Cisco, had ruined everything. The timing was all wrong. How could they start a relationship when Cisco had just died, and Barry had been plunged into the depths of grief and despair? It didn't seem fair to his memory, for Barry to pursue this happiness, when Cisco had lost his life trying to help him. Barry loved Iris, but he had other things to deal with – finding Wells and making him pay being at the top of his list.

Besides, there was still Eddie. Iris lived with Eddie, and she _loved_ him. She'd hadn't realized it was possible to be in love with more than one person, but she was. Eddie was a good man, and she didn't want to hurt him. Iris was learning there were different levels and kinds of love, but everything was too muddled right now, and she didn't have time to sort through what was in her heart.

So late one night at the hospital, as they occupied chairs on either side of Joe's bed, keeping watch over him as he slept, the two childhood friends had decided it would be best if they kept their kiss and their feelings a secret from Eddie. Now wasn't the time for them to get together. They would continue on as they had before, until the time was right, until Iris could transition out of her relationship with Eddie with the least amount of damage possible. That way Barry could focus on catching Wells. "And," Iris had said, echoing the wisdom of her father, "Caitlin is going to need you more than ever."

"I'm sorry," Iris told Caitlin, wrapping her arms around the other woman.

"Yeah, me too."

A few folding chairs had been set up around the grave-site for family and close friends. Barry and Caitlin had been saved seats in the front row, near the family; the Wests and Eddie sat behind them. It was a solemn and quiet service. The minister spoke gently and softly, his words at times punctuated or drowned completely by occasional sobs. Caitlin wasn't listening to a word he said. She was staring at the black casket, covered in flowers, trying to convince herself that it really held Cisco. This wasn't going to be like with Ronnie – there could be no miraculous reappearances. That box wasn't empty; one of her best friends laid inside.

The minister was talking about an after-life Caitlin didn't think she believed in. One life was quite enough for her. She was struck again with an overwhelming desire for rest, to just lie down and never get up again, and she thought wistfully of the bridge and the dark waters below.

A eulogy was given by Cisco's uncle Bruno – a fat, balding man Caitlin had met only once, at a family gathering Cisco had invited her to. His grandmother's birthday, if she remembered correctly. She had been surrounded by his relatives, who clattered and gossiped, and told her she was a beautiful girl but much too skinny - she should eat more and make sure to look after their oddball Cisco. Caitlin had laughed, and Cisco had blushed a deep maroon as he had explained that Caitlin wasn't his girlfriend, but one of his friends.

His aunts had given him a disapproving look, and redirected their attention to his brother, who had started playing the piano, their voices joining his in song. "Well, that was embarrassing," Cisco admitted, refusing to look Caitlin in the eye.

"It was sweet." She had cast her eyes around the room, listening to the excited laughter and chattering. "It must be nice having such a big family."

"You, Ronnie, and Wells are more of a family to me than most of these people," he had snorted, and blushed again, like he had let slip a particularly humiliating secret. Caitlin had smiled and squeezed his hand.

Dante Ramon was playing the piano now. His fingers glided along the keys, producing a melody too somber and rich to really be beautiful. She remembered how Cisco had described, and indeed she had witnessed herself, how people praised Dante's ability, called him talented and a genius. Caitlin watched Dante's hands and thought there was less skill, less grace and beauty, less power in them than in Cisco's fingers, as they swept across multiple keyboards, making real and practical things happen. Things other people could only dream about.

The entirety of the service, she sat rigid in her chair, eyes ahead, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Barry stole looks at her from the corner of his eye, but she did not move. As the service came to its close, and the coffin was slowly lowered into the ground, Barry reached out and covered her hands with his own, his fingers questioning as they sought hers.

She tore her eyes from the casket and looked into his face. His eyes were wet and red. Something unspoken passed between them, and they rose to leave. Caitlin wanted to get as far away from this place as possible.

They were intercepted by Mrs. Ramon, whose face was partially obscured by a black veil and smeared mascara. She grabbed Caitlin in a tight hug, crushing the girl against her. "Mi cariño, thank you for coming. I know how much you meant to Cisco," this sentence was broken by a piercing sob, "mi hijo." Once again, as seemed to be happening far too often lately, words failed Caitlin. She returned the embrace, and felt they had made the right decision, covering up the truth of Cisco's death. Maybe healing would be easier, she thought, if Mrs Ramon believed he'd died of natural causes, and not murder.

As Mrs Ramon released her, and was lead away by a group of relatives, Caitlin caught a glimpse of something standing on the hillside above the cemetery. Or someone. A man with his hands in his pockets. She took a tentative half-step forward.

Barry laid a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong, Cait?"

She blinked, and the figure was gone. "I thought...I saw something."

He followed her line of vision and scanned the landscape. "If something was there, it's not there anymore."

"They'd have to be pretty quick," Caitlin mumbled under her breath.

"What did you say?"

"I said, I think we should go." As they rejoined the Wests and Eddie, Caitlin chanced one final look behind her. She had seen him, she knew she had.

_Harrison Wells._


End file.
